


Hill's Bend

by fandomcringebucket



Series: Tales of American Hauntings [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: But she's trying, Canon Disabled Character, Canon LGBTQ+ Character, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, No beta we die like men whose friends won't read your drafts, Psychological Horror, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious Themes, Religious Themes written by an Atheist, canon neurodivergent character, the author doesn't know what she's doing with the tarot theme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28760364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomcringebucket/pseuds/fandomcringebucket
Summary: Ervin Moore was a regular man. A simple man, but a regular man. But, after the mysterious death of his volatile wife left him rattled and broken, he made the big choice of moving from Gramercy, New York to Hill’s Bend, Kentucky. A small, safe, rustic town, once a haven for a since-defunct Christian denomination, dating back to the 1800s. For the quiet and sleepy nature of the town, it was a good place to raise his daughter, Cynthia.However, when strange things begin to turn up and previously unsolved murders start to run hot, Ervin, his daughter, and their allies discover something truly sinister casting a shadow over their small town.
Series: Tales of American Hauntings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108589
Kudos: 6





	1. The Fool - 0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Every man is a divinity in disguise, a god playing the fool.”  
> — Ralph Waldo Emerson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My suggestion for this story is chugging an entire bottle of vodka, but if you want something substantial to pair with this chapter/prologue, I'd suggest "Bittersweet" by Kevin MacLeod.

_Ervin was still awake, restless. Tossing and turning next to his wife. He couldn’t sleep, unsurprisingly. Every texture and sensation was irking him, and it was throwing a wrench in his only desire to get some rest. After all the stress of helping Cynthia, his dearest daughter, study for her various AP tests, he surely deserved even a wink of sleep.  
_ _It took him over an hour, but he finally decided to sit up. His eyes drifted over to Lora, his dear wife. She was, unsurprisingly, still asleep. She was always the heavy sleeper between the two of them, not many things could wake her once she was out. And yet, she always looked peaceful. Not much could sour her delicate face when she was asleep. No nightmares, no inconsistencies. He could have envied her._

_Could have, if not for all the things that he loved about her getting in the way. Strong (physically too, he'd seen her take a broken table leg to the head at one point), brave, and most of all, sweet. But back then, it took her a while to open up and show that._

_Ervin sighs and decides to ultimately take the plunge. He reaches out, gently shaking his wife, taking nearly 10 minutes of going back and forth between shaking her, saying her name, and even turning on the little reading lamp on his side of the bed. He was a bit quiet, yes, he didn’t want to wake his young daughter a few rooms down, but he was positive he was a little below regular talking volume.  
_ _Finally, Lora began to stir. Her long, black hair looked like a frizzy mess in the low light of Ervin’s reading lamp, her dark green eyes bleary with sleep. She rubs her tired eyes, mumbling about “what he wanted at this hour”. He kept a low and calm voice, simply explaining his predicament. She nods, sitting up, grabbed her glasses case from the nightstand, and put on those large, wire-framed round glasses she detested wearing during the day._

 _But, annoyed as she may be, she struck up a bit of small chatter. It had always lulled Ervin to sleep, in a strange way. What she said never bored him, but it was simply the calm tone of her voice that gave him the peace of mind to finally fall asleep._ _But, even then, this old method wasn't working. He was just... too awake. And, soon enough, so was Lora. After a while, the conversation's topic turned to their old memories._

_“Do you remember when we hung out in the park together, Erv?”  
_

_“Hm… no, why?”  
_

_“Nothing, I just remember… well, us. The two reckless idiots who skipped class and smoked behind the big oak tree down in Magnolia Park?”  
_

_“You know that was you, Lora. I was the weird kid who was just looking for a quiet place to do my work. The classroom felt so loud all the time, with the buzzing of all the fans and such.” He murmurs, his eyes brighten a bit, as a memory comes to mind. “Ah, you know, I remember just... shutting down at one point. We were in Mrs. Hunterson’s class, and she handed me back my essay with a C on it.”  
_

_“Right. You… stopped responding for a couple of hours, I thought you had died. I had to drag your fat ass over to the nurse’s office, and she said you were having a breakdown or something. In hindsight, it was the C, wasn’t it?”  
_

_“...Yes. Dedicating hours to my work, and then… handed practically nothing. Stress, perhaps.”  
_

_“You were quite the glory hound, weren’t you? I saw how upset you were back then when you woke up, remember when I took you to my mom’s backyard after-school to hang out? I stole your stupid essay and set it on fucking fire with my mom’s old lighter.”_

_“You did… but, why?”_

_“Huh?”_

_“Why did you even bother to do something that…… elaborate?”_

_“Ervin Moore. Come on. Did you actually forget the old Croymer Bridge? You know, where I proposed? I did it for you, as crazy as it sounds.”_ _Lora sighs, taking Ervin’s hand into hers, pressing a kiss into the back of his hand. “I love you, Erv, but you’re amazingly dense sometimes.”_

_She lowers his hand and leans in, but pauses halfway. “...We’re okay?”_

_Ervin nods, meeting her lips for a short, chaste kiss.  
_

For a time, life was quiet, peaceful.

Ervin could only think of that moment, the last quiet, tender moment they shared.

But, after the fire took Lora and the house, Ervin and Cynthia had nowhere to go. They lived in a hotel room, for a time, then with his parents in West Virginia. That's when they suggested Hill's Bend. His parents had brought it up over dinner, but the only thing keeping him at that table in those moments was the fear of disappointing them. Hill's Bend was an older religious town, established sometime in the 1800s. Ervin's mother said his grandfather was born there, and he always looked upon it fondly. So, perhaps this town could be the fresh start they desperately needed. Ervin couldn't look Cynthia in the eyes as he nodded in agreement. He could never meet her gaze, but it felt so much worse this time.

In the beginning, he didn't know where to start, when it came to where he and Cynthia could live. But, even when he found an answer, he didn't know where to start.

And that’s where it all started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins the tale of Ervin Moore and Hill's Bend.
> 
> I'm gonna predict that these notes are either my ramblings and notes that aren't relevant to music suggestions or some kind of quote to hopefully flavor a chapter. Or probably just the raving of a mad lunatic, overstimulated from 30 cans of Red Bull. Both are plausible.


	2. The Magician - 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is true that even when exhausted you still are providing something to those you serve. But you are out of touch with your deepest strengths, role-modeling self-destructive behavior, martyring yourself, and giving others cause for guilt.”  
> ― Elaine N. Aron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Jesus has entered the video and sits on a throne draped with the fur of a Dalmatian, surrounded by volumes of man's greatest works, and in his hand, he holds man's greatest mistake." - Διόνυσος / Dionysus, the comment section of "Theresa is Boring!" by KrimsonRogue.
> 
> I think this quote better describes how low my expectations are for both this story and myself, but here we go.
> 
> For this chapter, you might wanna mix hydrochloric acid with a Whiskey Sour, and listen to "Memory" by Keith Holden while you do it.

Cynthia was still awake. She hadn't slept for weeks, just getting her 40 winks in, and nothing else.

She missed the house, even if staying with her other grandparents (the ones that didn’t live in NY) was a luxury she never got to indulge in before. She ate a bowl of cranberry-almond cereal or something, whilst slaving over a can of chilled coffee to battle off that ancient dragon, exhaustion. Cynthia would let God take her right now if it meant she could sleep for more than five seconds without having a nightmare.  
Her dad walked over to her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “You think you’ll be ready soon, Cynth?” He murmured, with a sort of sleep-drunk quality that she'd be forever jealous of. But, instead of nodding, she glares vindictively at her father, shooting a nasty scowl at him.

Cynth knew he wasn’t at fault for what happened, he wasn’t even at home when the fire started. He was at work. He used to be a teacher, now he can’t even look at a school, or even young kids, without shivering. She couldn’t blame him, the memories always came rushing at her, demanding attention, and kept her from getting good sleep. She always felt like a demon had snatched her health, physical and mental, away from her, with it's long fingers and sharp claws.

That “demon” had been the subject of her art lately, this creature she thought up. She couldn't banish it with the little golden crucifix she wore underneath her shirt, so she manifested the demon instead. Her thought process was that if she can't destroy it, giving it a face can rob it of its power. So, she gave it a face. She always drew this demon with purple skin and a comically rail-thin body, as if someone had manually stretched its bones. It always had long, leathery wings, tinged black at the edges. On its head, it had these short, stubby devil horns. But Cynthia could never fully imagine its face. So she often made it a point that this creature _had_ no face, like- Slenderman, or something.

She wasn't 6 anymore, she knew that but she’s grown up learning how to draw her feelings versus vocalizing them, and she could never find the words for this particular demon. Her dad’s too tired to even want to hear about it, she didn't have any friends to even talk to about normal things, much less a personification of- what- her… anger?

 _Trauma_ was a word that scared the shit out of Cynthia because it always felt like it's saying something's wrong with her. She's fine, she's not some broken doll. She is 15, and she is fucking fine. She's a freshman, not a shrinking violet. Who’s to say she wasn't fine, anyway? She’s fine. Just fine.  
Or, that's what she wanted to say, staring down the barrel of her father's tired gaze. Both Cynthia and her dad were exhausted with everything, but both of them were too stubborn to back down. Or, maybe that was just her.

Some things were, anyway. Maybe the pain in his eyes wasn't just her, as he looked through her sketchbook (one of the few things Cynth managed to save in the fire, as she was running for her life). He saw a portrait Cynth was drawing of her mom for her art class before the house fire happened. He looked like a kicked puppy as he gently stroked his fingertips over the page, the slight shine of tears welling up in his eyes.  
The gentlest Cynthia had ever been since the fire was that exact moment, as she gingerly took the sketchbook from his hands and closed it with a careful touch. Neither of them was ready to face their fears or even talk about what happened. The wounds were still fresh, and so were Cynthia’s scars. Her wounds that she sustained were only 1st or even 2nd-degree burns, but moving still hurt at times. 

It still hurt now, as she climbed into the car, with the few things she managed to save from the fire and the freshly-bought decorations and other things to spruce up their already-furnished home. She didn’t want to leave Gramercy behind, but she already had. Even here, in West Virginia, miles from New York, she still felt like she was at home, in a way. But, leaving here was the first step to leaving Gramercy, New York behind.

And Cynthia felt scared. For the first time in months, she was genuinely scared. And what scared her even more?  
She didn’t know why.

* * *

Ervin felt guilty, looking over at Cynthia. She hadn’t looked at him once this entire ride, she’d been listening to her music at a loud volume for most of the ride, ignoring him and whatever he had to say. He understood, he really did, but it hurt to see that her dark green eyes didn't spare him a single glance.  
Perhaps the sting was even worse, as he could see so much of Lora in Cynthia. Even if she didn't have the same deep, tan skin as Lora (Ervin was paler than death, their child was bound to be a few shades lighter), he could still see the similarities. Dark hair (even though Ervin and Lora had rather similar black hair), and the same dark green eyes.  
It hurt, is what it came down to.

He’d been driving for about four hours now, and he could see the old, carved wooden sign now, the chipped white paint proudly stating **WELCOME TO HILL’S BEND, EST. 1864** as his old 2008 Toyota Camry sped by, the tires kicking up pebbles, making a bit of a bumpy transition from gravel to pavement. He could see the bus stop a mile or so in, along with the cracked and crumbling beginnings of a sidewalk.

This place was aged. Every brick, every inch of pavement, every inch of this town came off as… old. Everything was built around a curve, making the roads a bit hard to navigate. As he drove farther in, he looked beyond the roads and glanced over to the shops and businesses from time-to-time. He noticed things like a “magic” shop (called Fairy Daydream), a little donut shop with a few cop cars parked outside, and a bakery with a weird Spanish name he couldn’t decipher at the speed he's going. But, as he took a left down Main Street, he noted a peculiar roadsign.

Sugar **CAIN** Lane, with a crudely painted 'CAIN', covering what was most likely supposed to spell 'cane'.   
But, even more unusual, were the police cars and the large, white, ambulance-looking vehicle, parked farther down the vandalized street. He began to grip the steering wheel tightly. His knuckles turned paper-white, as he turned to drive down that street, and parked his car on the side of the road. Cynthia didn't notice, so it couldn't hurt to see what was going on.

 _But he did, he knew exactly. He saw the same thing when he was driving home from work. The coroner's van didn't come until later, but he still remembered the bony face of the coroner driving that exact car. Why would he forget?  
_ _The man who took Lora's corpse out of the smoldering remains of the house didn't even look human. His skin and hair were paler than a corpse bled dry, face bony and emaciated, he looked like a vampire or a ghost straight out of some old-school horror movie. When that coroner's milky white eyes gazed into his, Ervin could recall the exact feeling he felt. Frozen. No, not frozen, paralyzed. He couldn't move in those moments, while they just stared at one another._

His strides were few and far in between, and it felt like he had taken practically no time to stand in front of the odd house. It was a rather pretty home, a blue, two-story suburban with a little wooden front porch painted white, punctuated with three wicker chairs.  
A pale, ginger policeman with a sculpted jaw and freckles on every inch of his face and a tanner policewoman with blonde hair seemed to be to herding the crowd away from the house, both officers making a racket about how there was "a gas leak, the area isn't safe!". A brunette woman, maybe twenty, was sitting on the sidewalk with her back to a police cruiser, a blanket draped around her shoulders like a cloak, as she spoke with another officer. Ervin wasn't trumped by the height of the crowd, even as it grew more and more, given his proximity to the house. The house stunk, but not of gasoline. The closer Ervin got, the more it smelled like copper, and the scent made him gag. But, even then, that wasn't the final straw. Seeing coroners carrying out three filled bodybags was.

Ervin tried his hardest to push his way through the crowd, but he was fixed there, unable to move through the pit that pushed him back. Closer, always closer. He couldn't get out, and he dropped to his knees, holding his head in his hands. Everything was too much, everything was too loud. He couldn't think, he couldn't do anything. He could only sit there, dripping tears all over the grass.  
He felt his body move, but it didn't feel like he was moving. And he wasn't, he was being pulled by petite hands, gripping his forearms as hard as they could. His knees burned from the friction as he was dragged out onto the sidewalk, and turned out onto his back.

An angel with dark brown hair, falling over their shoulders like a curtain, backlit by pure sunlight. At any moment, he expected to find a hundred eyes, burning him with their gaze. "Holy shit- are you alright???" A girlish voice asks, a worried and high-pitched tone coming at him from all directions.  
The angel leans back to sit on her calves, leaving nothing to shield Ervin from the bright light that had previously given her a heavenly radiance. The sudden brightness struck his brain with a sense of panic, he threw a hand over his eyes to cover them, as he hissed and groaned. He sat up as quickly as possible, rubbing his eyes, while black spots dotted his vision.

"Christ..." She cringes, massaging his shoulder with a delicate hand. He looked at her and blinked. He blinked again.  
His eyes weren't deceiving him, were they? He didn't think so. It was strange, because, for half a second, he thought he saw Lora. But, to his dismay, the light deceived him, at least for that short moment. In reality, he saw a girl with a round face, dark brown hair, and light brown skin, just in a better light. She _did_ hold a very vague resemblance, but he didn't see that firey spark in her eyes as he did with Lora. The girl hopped to her feet and held out a hand for Ervin to take. He took her hand and shambled to his feet, though his legs were a bit wobbly, his stance like that of a newborn fawn.

"Sorry 'bout that friend, I just noticed you weren't all too well when the old Grey Sisters got pulled out of the old nursing home by Judy and Co., I thought it'd be best to get you out've there." She explains, all while keeping an oddly strong grip on his hand. Where they could grasp, anyway, her calloused palms were practically tiny, even in Ervin's long-fingered, bony hand. "Damn shame, too. We're a nice town, stuff like this doesn't usually happen."

"...What do you mean by 'like th'-"

"Oh, right!" She exclaims, freeing his hand to smack her forehead. She lowers her hand, gives him a big smile, as she placed her hand on her hip and held out her hand for a proper handshake. "My name's Claudia Willis, I work for the public library."

Ervin nods dumbly, took her hand to shake, and pursed his lips for a second. In this brief moment of silence, he was too... too... something. It was a feeling he couldn't describe, but he forgot about it just as soon, when a proper greeting sprung onto the tip of his tongue.

"Ervi- Ervin. Ervin Moore? Yes, Ervin Moore."

Claudia chuckles and cocked a brow at his... rather clumsy introduction. "You're sure? You don't sound like it."

Ervin nods and gives her an uneasy and unsure smile but gently shook her hand as a matter of courtesy.

"Alright, Ervin Moore... you new around here? I don't think I've met a 'Moore' yet." Claudia hums, placing her hands in the pockets of her pale blue jeans. She appeared to be in thought for a moment but her eyes lit up as she snapped her fingers. "Right! You're the new family that the Higbees sold their house to?" He nods, humming in confirmation, shuffling where he stands while his gaze darts around at the concrete and grass, before settling on looking Claudia in the eye. Or, close enough to her eyes, he found himself transfixed with the reflective glare of her round, wire glasses.

It took him a second to realize she expected an answer, a red flush burning his pale cheeks for a moment, as he stuttered out a reply. "Oh- yes. I- I just moved here from... New York." He nods his head, continuing to awkwardly sputter out coherent sentences. "And yes I- I'm working at the public... public library as well. Soon, at- at the very least. Once I get my... my new home in order." He chases his verbal fumbling with a smile, but, in all honesty, he looked like he was grinning through a grimace. Claudia's eyebrow raises, only responding with a little 'huh'.

She takes a step towards him, leaning to the right. She points down the street, to Ervin's confusion. "That'cher car down there?"

He turns on his heels, catching on quickly that she was pointing to the silver Toyota Camry parked a dozen meters or so down the street. "...Yes."  
He pauses for half a second, before giving Claudia a little wave and a rushed goodbye as he speed-walked down the sidewalk.  
Shit, he'd left Cynthia in the car without a word...

As Ervin reached the car, he opened the driver's side, but he looked behind him on instinct. He stared at Claudia a couple of dozen feet away- arms outstretched and elbows at her sides. Maybe a few seconds more than necessary, but he waved her goodbye (to which he was given The Bird) and got back in the car. He glanced over at the passenger's side to find Cynthia dozing, with the side of her face glued to the passenger's seat window. He sighed, started up the car, and headed back for Main Street.

On the drive to their new home, he drove past the local public school, St. Jude Catholic School. It was on Alred Street, which wouldn’t be far from their new home. Maybe half a mile to walk at most. He never realized it until now, but the school looked much more like a repurposed mansion versus an institution, with how elegant the outer structure was, even with all the slightly grungy buildings surrounding it. He slowed down to a leisurely pace, as he strained his eyes to look up at the (most likely) added belltower, catching the figure of somebody standing at the top of the tower, far up and away in the distance.

Ervin muttered something about how "the school could have found a modern way to do that", even if he was aware that Cynthia wouldn’t respond, even now, when she had woken up from her short nap. Her clunky headphones had loud rock music blasting in her ears this entire ride, but he didn't have the heart to take them off. He drove past the building, and let the odd sight drift from his mind.

The new house was a bit farther and out in terms of location, in the small neighborhood of Church Row. Beautiful as the two-story rancher was, it was practically staring up through the shadow of the old church this town was famed for. As he stepped out of the car, he couldn’t help but be transfixed by the beauty of the church overlooking his new home, noticing the height of the hill which this church stood upon, the apex being the seat for this house of God. He heard something softly tickling the back of his mind, and swore he heard his name whispered through the faraway walls of the church…

_“Dad…” he heard between hushed whispers of his name, again and again-_

**“DAD!”**

“What?-” Ervin turned his head, to see Cynthia nearly 15 feet away from him, and running towards him.

“What’re you doing??” Cynthia demanded, grabbing hold of his arm. “The house is _that way_ , Dad.” She points over to their new home, a two-story ranch-style home, huffing as she practically dragged her poor father along.

It was then when he realized _where_ he'd been walking off towards. The old church, overlooking his new home. Panic filled his heart, as he began to hyperventilate, his heart and his thoughts going a mile a minute. _Why would I go there now? Why didn't I think even about it? Did Cynthia think I was abandoning her? Jesus Christ-_ The creaking of the wooden porch as they stepped up barely registered as a sound. Cynthia's voice came out above it all, though.

"Dad- Dad. God- what did mom say- uh- okay. Okay." Cynthia carefully helps him sit down on the wooden porch swing, gently rubbing his back. "Dad, just breathe. Okay? Deep- deep breaths. Okay? Breathe in, breathe out. It's gonna be okay, Dad." She says, trying to keep her voice calm, just like her mom had taught her. _Don't be loud, it makes him freak out more_ , she recalled, quietly thanking her mom for those little lessons.

It took him a bit, but Ervin finally settled down, his heartbeat calming and his breaths evening out. His mouth felt a bit dry, his head a bit fuzzy, but it wasn't much that a few glasses of water couldn't ease. He stood to his feet, left hand using the porch rail as support. He turns to Cynthia, nodding a few times, which she returns. He turns the other way again, sighing softly, continuing to slowly breathe in, out. In, out. He was fine. He was at home. He raised his head, blinking a few times, his vision finally clearing. He could finally take in his home, even if it was a bit closer than he'd hoped he would have.

It was a "new" home. Well, if you could consider it that. Newer than the other homes in this town, judging by the ranch-style the home was built with. He had bought it online, too afraid to leave his parent's home in suburban West Virginia to try and look himself. Faintly, he remembered something on the realtor site stating it had been built in 1957, versus the comparatively ancient feeling of the other homes in this neighborhood. He'd have to ask his new colleague at the public library, lightly cursing under his breath, as he remembered the distance of the library from his new home.

"Cynth," he called, turning his head to Cynthia, who was reclining on the porch swing, messing with her phone, and enjoying the late-summer breeze. She raised her head, sounding a little hum. "Do you wanna go inside?" He asks, fumbling with his keyring as he tries to find his new house key. She nods, making an 'mhm' sound, swinging her legs to the front side of the porch swing and standing up, continuing to (probably) text somebody.

Ervin finally finds his new house key, sticking it in the large metal lock protruding above the doorknob and turning it. The hinges made a rather loud _creeeaaaaaak!_ as he opens the door, noting the thin layer of dust on everything as he steps inside. The entire home felt a bit abandoned, with how there was still furniture and decorations. But, with the only source of light being the natural light filtering in through thin, moth bitten curtains, it felt like he was stepping into a haunted house. Not the fun kind, either, this place felt like something wasn't right. He could have sworn this house was inhabited. Otherwise, who sold him the place a few weeks ago? Ervin felt a shiver run through his body as he walked further inside. The beige walls felt suffocating, almost.

There was a staircase in front of the doorway, which led to an office and a hallway, from what he could see downstairs. As he took a left to the main staircase, he noted a woven matt left of the front door. He raised a brow at it, but put two-and-two together and took off his shoes, placing them neatly on the matt. Cynthia did the same, taking a right to instead walk into the living room. He would have to look in there later, but it wouldn't be too hard.

The direction he took lead straight into the kitchen, with another living room on the left, from what he could tell. He set his bags down on the kitchen counter, bustling around the kitchen and the house at large to turn on the lights, and hopefully clean up the dust while he was at it. It didn't take him long to turn on the lights, once he found a sort of "master switch" to the right of the microwave and next to an open-arch doorway. It wasn't too special, it just turned on the kitchen and outdoor lights.

After deciphering the lighting, Ervin found himself dusting up a storm with a duster he found in a closet, covering his nose with the cotton of his black pullover to save from breathing in the ludicrous amount of dust his cleaning was turning up. At first, the dust seemed minimal, but now it felt like this home had been abandoned for a century. It was odd, but if opening the windows and cleaning furiously helped this house feel like home, so be it.  
It took Ervin an hour to ask Cynthia to go talk to the neighbors, make herself some friends. He swore he saw a few kids around her age out and about when he was initially getting out of the car, so maybe that was a good start. She didn't seem all too thrilled, but she did wrestle off her oversized sweatshirt, put her shoes back on, and left to go greet her new neighbors. He sighs softly, stepping down to the living room adjacent to the kitchen, his long legs taking only a few strides before he practically flopped onto the couch. A cloud of cigarette smoke emitted from the cushions, giving him pause.

Lora had quit smoking in the blink of an eye when Ervin asked her if she wanted to have a child one day, but the scent had clung to the curtains for years back in Gramercy. He'd tried everything he could to get rid of the scent. Washing it with detergent, vinegar, whathaveyou, but he inevitably just threw the curtains out and bought new ones. He could still remember the flush of embarrassment in Lora's cheeks. He'd aggressively scrubbed the cheap material of the curtains for what felt like hours, as she watched from the doorway of the laundry room, gently bouncing a 1-year-old Cynthia.  
He still longed for that simplicity, even now.

But, alas, he couldn't hope to go back to that kind of normalcy. Not now, not ever.

He perused old memories quietly, enveloped by the spectral scent of cigarette smoke, feeling his eyelids grow heavier and heavier. And, in only a few moments, it became equally harder to keep his eyes open. And soon, he fell asleep, cradled gently by the warm embrace of the old sights and scents of his new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ervin seems like a constant nervous wreck who relies on his Chad wife for support"  
> \- My friend after reading (the first draft) of this chapter
> 
> Penn, I love you, but who gave you the right to K.O. me in one shot.


End file.
